Simple Rules Can Become Habit
by Always With Amy
Summary: Everything Quinn thought she knew is apparently a lie, but she can live with that. In private, at least. - Quinn/Hermione femslash. Title from Violet Sauce.


Quinn isn't like this. She doesn't sneak around Hogwarts grounds after curfew – that's the action of a _delinquent. _She _definitely _doesn't sneak around Hogwarts grounds after curfew for the sake of _sex_, which she had promised – her parents; herself; _God_ – she would wait until marriage for. And she _absolutely does __**not **_sneak around Hogwarts grounds after curfew for the sake of sex with a _girl_, because _Quinn Fabray doesn't like girls_.

Except it seems like she has her facts wrong. It wouldn't be the first time, considering that until a few months ago, she thought that Hermione Granger (Gryffindor; muggleborn; generally unattractive and grating in terms of personality) didn't do any of those things, either. She thought that Hermione was just another nerdy girl who somehow managed to capture the eye of the Boy Who Lived, _somehow _winning his friendship while simultaneously carrying on some strange passive-aggressive relationship with whatever Weasley it was that was in their year. (Quinn still hasn't learned his name; she thinks he might be Fred.)

Quinn takes a moment to dwell on these recent changes in their personalities – or at least the recent changes in her perception of their personalities – as she slips from her Slytherin dorm; taking all the care in the world to not wake any of the other girls. She considers everything she knew – or, at least _thought _she knew – as she navigates her way through the empty halls of the school at a prompt 3:28 in the morning, keeping a careful eye out for Filch, since the _last _thing she needs on top of all this _confusion _is a demerit.

She stops thinking when she sees the other girl, standing nervously – like she expects for Quinn to show up with a horde of guys like Draco and girls like Pansy in tow, if she shows up at all – at the end of a corridor, her hands nervously wringing the hem of the grey sweater that Quinn recognizes _very well_. The sight is calming to Quinn, in a way. Somehow, she likes to see that she's not the only one of them feeling _uncertainty _and _nervousness _about their nighttime meetings, even if she would be lying if she said she likes seeing Hermione _looking _just as uncertain and nervous as she is.

"So that's where it got to," Quinn notes quietly as she approaches Hermione, who jumps at the sound of her voice. Quinn stifles a laugh as she spreads her palms wide in a show of innocence, only distantly realizing that she hadn't even _considered _bringing her wand with her. (She dismisses the idea that that might be because Hermione makes her feel _safe_. Even if she is the most capable – or at least most knowledgeable – student in their year, Quinn still isn't about to trust her life to anyone else, much less _Hermione Granger_.)

Hermione blushes, and drops her hands to her sides in familiar motion of _embarrassment _that she seems far too used to for Quinn's tastes. "I – yes, I must have taken it by mistake last week," she confesses softly, her voice barely carrying over the cold and imposing tiled hallway as Quinn's footsteps seem to grow increasingly louder. "I'm sorry," Hermione whispers as Quinn reaches her, and lifts a hand to cup Hermione's cheek in a sort of tender way she doesn't show to _anyone else_, or even to Hermione when there are others around.

Smiling reassuringly out of a habit she's only found herself picking up since starting these rendezvous with Hermione, Quinn leans forward to rest her forehead against the other girl's, noticing how her eyes still widen like she's _surprised _that Quinn is touching her, talking to her, _acknowledging her existence._ Quinn keeps them like that for a moment, her nose brushing against Hermione's; the brunette's hot breath coming out in silent, uneven pants that are now the soundtrack to Quinn's most arousing dreams; brown eyes level with brown, and lips _so close _to making delicious contact, but still being _so far apart_.

Quinn doesn't hold out nearly as long as she always wishes she could. After the seventh breath (Hermione's seventh breath; Quinn's fourth), Quinn finds herself surging forward, searching for Hermione's slightly chapped, natural-feeling, natural-_tasting_ lips with her own. Quinn's eyes close the moment she finds them; she doesn't want to see how Hermione reacts. She doesn't want to see if Hermione looks startled, or disgusted, or _frightened _– and she doesn't _need _to see if Hermione looks grateful, or wanting, or _enamored_. That's not what these meetings are about – _love_. They're about fulfilling urges; taking care of _needs _that they can't deny anymore.

If she's going to go all the way back and psychoanalyze everything, then maybe this game with them – this game of _I want you but I can't_; this silly little competition of _wits _and _restraint _and _teasing _that always results in _lust _and _submission _and _misplaced fondness _– started all the way back in their first year. Quinn remembers the way that she had whispered to a certain Blaine Anderson that Hermione's hair had been ridiculous as the girl was sorted into _Gryffindor_, of all the houses. She remembers the way that as Hermione made her way back to the Gryffindor table, Blaine hadn't exactly been _quiet _as he snorted, and whispered in response to Quinn that _It looked like she brushed her hair with a tree branch_. She remembers the way that Hermione had given the pair of them a _hurt _look, and how it had struck Quinn as being _pretty_.

And how Quinn had naturally hated herself for that thought, and proceeded to sneer in Granger's direction menacingly, before she suddenly found Kurt at her side, smiling warmly down at her in that way of his, and pleasantly demanding that she move over for him on the bench. (The way that his smile seemed more strained than usual didn't go unnoticed by Quinn, who guiltily avoided his gaze, even when he took her hand and murmured, _She has pretty eyes – did you see them, Quinnie?_)

By second year, Quinn had gotten in with the most popular crowd she could – Draco became a frequent companion of hers, as she spared public chuckles at his cruel remarks towards Granger and her ragtag friends. (While only really _laughing _privately at Kurt's suggestions that Draco was harboring a crush on the Boy Who Lived – no matter how accurate it seemed, she wasn't about to go about_ publically _agreeing with the idea.)

Third year was when things became more difficult – Hermione became harder to avoid, as Quinn found herself in more classes with her. Kurt's suggestions about Draco's questionable heterosexuality (or, lack thereof, as he and his gaydar insisted) became more prominent, and seemed to hint more at _Quinn's _questionable heterosexuality than anything else. (Though Quinn continually retaliated by pointedly making advances towards a blond, pouty-lipped Hufflepuff boy that Kurt was particularly fond of. The fact that said blond, pouty-lipped Hufflepuff boy continued to reject her was not regarded as insignificant to Kurt.)

The next three years had been nothing more than a blur to Quinn. She found boyfriends; Hermione seemed to attract some boys' attentions. Quinn dumped her boyfriends; Hermione refused the attentions. Quinn found herself staring, but pretended she wasn't. Hermione noticed the looks, but pretended she didn't.

Throughout those first six years at Hogwarts, the girls hadn't exchanged more than a dozen words outside of obligation. And they were…_content_ with that. Or, at least, they had been, until Quinn – a prefect, naturally – had happened to walk in on Hermione in the bath. Then, things had changed – words still remained unspoken, but eye contact was held and touches were granted. It was enough.

All those years of disdainful looks and cruel words; all those years of furtive glances and implicative intonations; all those years of _wanting _and _never having _never mean anything on these nights when Quinn and Hermione meet. Nothing matters on these nights, beyond _lust_.

But as wet-slickened and _oh so nimble _fingers pinch and slide in the private folds regarded as _intimate_, it feels like something more than lust, and only when Hermione moans a breathy _Quinn _into Quinn's mouth, followed a few moments later by Quinn's muffled _Hermione _into Hermione's shoulder, does Quinn consider that _maybe, it's not just about physical pleasure without fear of pregnancy_. (Which is what she's been telling herself all along.)

When the first rays of sunlight fall through the window, Quinn stirs from her hazy nap on the cold (and _grimy_) floor of the hallway, and shakes the shoulder of the girl in her lap gently. Hermione sits up quickly, like she always does, and keeps her gaze on the ground as she tugs at the hem of her Quinn's sweater. It's still hanging off her frame; exposing a slender strip of skin just above the loose waistband of the flannel pants that, in another situation, Quinn wouldn't find endearing in the slightest.

Only right now, Quinn _does _find it endearing, and she stops the Gryffindor, pulling the soft grey fabric back down to cover Hermione's pretty, smooth, _perfect _midsection with a quiet, "Don't." Her companion of the night gives her a curious – _worried _– look, as Quinn just shakes her head, and stands up slowly. "I like how it looks on you," she murmurs in explanation, as Hermione hastily gets to her own feet, and tentatively smiles at Quinn for the first time in _ages. _Quinn doesn't realize how much she's missed Hermione's few and far between smiles until then, but doesn't show it beyond a smile of her own.

Hermione hesitates for a moment, looking as though she wants to say something in an uncertain way that would usually irritate Quinn, but this time – the blonde doesn't snap. She just waits, patiently, until Hermione is ready.

When Hermione _is _ready, she doesn't say anything. She only stands up on the tips of her toes, daintily, and _delicately_, and presses a light kiss to Quinn's cheek. It's nothing like the kisses Quinn's used to sharing with the other girl – full of _need _and _want _and _passion_. Even though Quinn hates to admit it, those kisses don't mean anything, the way that they two of them have used them.

But this kiss, a feather-light osculation to Quinn's cheek, is different. It's a promise, Quinn almost thinks, that this is _real_, and that it _means something to Hermione too_.

It won't change anything tonight, or tomorrow, or any time in the near future, they both know. But Quinn thinks that it might change something _eventually_, and that _someday_, she won't feel the need to hide with Hermione. She thinks that someday, she might just want to call Hermione _Hermione _in public, instead of just _Granger_. Maybe she'll even stand up for her.

Maybe.

_**xoxox**_

**AN: **Hnnng Fabranger was popping up on my dash last week…I couldn't help myself.

**AN (2): **Operation Kumception. Happy one year birthday to the canoe. (:

**AN (3): **Crappy proofreading; errors are mine, and I apologize.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.


End file.
